


Up the Figgy Pudding

by Unnethe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Ben Solo Being an Idiot, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Confrontations, Crack Treated Seriously, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Light Angst, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Or Is It?, Pregnancy, Protective Ben Solo, Red Dwarf References, Self-Esteem Issues, Unrequited Love, but all in the context of, is Ben a himbo deep down?, maybe but he still doesn't like most non-Rey people, referenced off-camera smut, silly premise now with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unnethe/pseuds/Unnethe
Summary: Ben Solo doesn’t give a shit about yuletide anything, but he gives several about Rey Johnson. So he really, really has feelings about her current problem. Well not problem, no. Not necessarily.More an unexpected new creation.If only he hadn’t failed to act like a decent, friendly human able to hold a conversation in her presence from the moment they met.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	Up the Figgy Pudding

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculous.
> 
> Additional CW: One reference to an off-camera character getting walloped in the nose.  
> References to drinking alcohol/getting drunk in a party context.  
> Lots of food.

“… _fucking_ duff, Rosie. Yeah I know. It’s a lot, I wish I hadn’t now of course. Yeah. Too late, I’m overwhelmed but committed.”

A sniff, a watery laugh.

Ben stops, his ears tingling and taking time to filter what they’ve just heard.

No replies. A phone call. He balances, paused on one foot outside the cracked open door to the upper floor copy room. Just passing by.

But he’d know this voice anywhere, usually in his mother’s office. Often with some quip, some Britishism when he’s managed to put his foot in his mouth again.

He’s pretty sure he’s imprinted on it, if that can happen. A particularly cruel universe’s idea of penance.

Nothing’s ever had such an effect on Ben. No one. He’s accepted nothing ever will so much again. Which is fine, it’s better for everyone if he keeps his distance.

But the distressed panic in her voice now is unfamiliar.

“It’s just going to be so _time consuming_ Rosie. And it’s just me! Having to do everything myself! Well I love you too, thank you for the support. You’re right, I’m sure I will be happy with it in the end. Yeah it’ll be easier delivering this thing into existence with you there, if you can make it.”

Ben’s brain screeches to a halt and with a soft hiss he releases the breath his body demands he stop holding.

Perhaps the fresh oxygen helps his synapses reboot, and the hollow feeling in his gut is the perfect place for rage to settle, predictably.

Because: Rey Johnson, scared and pregnant.

He remembers the phrase she’d used last month to congratulate Jessika from IT on her maternity leave: being _up the duff_.

He remembers it as he remembers everything else Rey-centric or even Rey-adjacent.

Like the wistful look she’d had in her eye, despite her outward happiness and thoughtful gift. How she’d excused herself not long after Jessika cut the cake, to slip out alone.

Ben had found himself for the first time, but not the last time since, thinking about fatherhood.

Not going to happen, what with his solitary lifestyle. Still, he’d considered it.

He remembers how sweet and ridiculous Rey likes her takeaway coffee, discovered by eavesdropping as she perched on Kaydel’s desk.

Her reusable cup has Holly’s disembodied head on the side (series 3–5 edition, not his favourite but growing on him after subsequent re-watch), and every time he orders now in a coffee shop he itches to add Rey’s abomination.

Seven pumps of caramel. _Seven_.

He’d seen Red Dwarf as a boy thanks to the esoteric old sci-fi collection that Luke— He’s watched it.

But how does anyone here resist the urge to greet her with _everybody’s dead Dave_ or _all right dudes_?

Maybe she’d like extra whipped cream. Does she have a favourite episode?

Ben always remembers, to the point where it’s become routine, how Rey crosses the carpark in the mornings still singing whatever music was playing in her beat up yellow Honda.

Those odd, charming chestnut buns bobbing along, fingers tapping at her satchel.

Pencil skirt fitting her lithe little curves like a glove, calf muscles jumping with each clack of her heels.

He has a lot of thoughts about these and similar things, when he’s alone.

A few new artists have made it into his rotation this way, thanks to frantic searching for her snatches of lyrics once he’s in his office.

It’s worth leaving his apartment earlier, waiting in his car until hers pulls in and pretending he’s just arrived.

Worth sitting in silence so he can feel through his shoes whether today is a day for bass to rattle her rust-bucket, or if she’s picked something soft and tuneful.

Standing in silence in the elevator too, awkward as it is, because she’s given up trying to make conversation there and his tongue won’t work when they’re alone.

He likes to think Rey’s music gives him an insight into her mood. Her mood _before_ a confined space with him notches it down (it’s not that Ben doesn’t care his sad routine has this effect, he just can’t stop).

This morning was Mariah Carey singing carols as it has been every day this week, and Rey’s perfume as always was something soft and citrus.

But some arsehole, some worthless excuse for a human lucky enough to date her, or just sleep with her – he doesn’t know which thought is worse – has decided to _leave_.

To stick his Rey in this situation, alone. Poisoning a moment that should only ever bring her happiness.

Dr Kalonia has always said anger is a secondary emotion, one Ben uses to cover his vulnerability. One that’s more acceptable for men, especially in his position.

Fear, then. Sadness. Desire. Heart palpitations… no, not an emotion. Jealousy. Impotence.

Because she’s _not_ his Rey, is she? Of which he has daily reminders.

“No Rose, it just means raisins or sultanas or whatever. I don’t want actual plums. _Raisins_.”

He needs to leave, keep walking, not stand here dipping in and out of some kind of fugue state.

Needs to try to convince her to take whatever monetary assistance she and the baby require, or find a way to anonymously deposit it into her bank account. Needs to hold her and tell her it will be okay.

Needs her to let him become—

No. As if he could ever be that.

But cravings. When do pregnancy cravings kick in? God, how far along _is_ she? Can’t be far.

“Yeah if my skin doesn’t turn out right everything will go squidgy. It’ll be awful and I _will_ be inconsolable. So I’ll need a bigger pot.”

The hot mist Ben works to keep at bay prickles up his neck. Rey, of all people, worrying that her body will change for the worse. Spending money on some overpriced tightening cream!

At least he could be buying it for her.

Ben almost laughs at the idea of _Rey_ looking awful. She could change anything about the physical form she’s in and still be perfect.

He barely drags himself away in time after she ends her call.

* * *

“Poe Dameron I am going to slice you into bits if you touch my suet again, I’ll use yours instead! Do you have _any_ idea how hard the proper stuff was to find? I had to order from some tiny organic farm in cocking Wisconsin! Hours of trawling the kinds of forums where people call themselves bloody _expats_ rather than immigrants!”

From the corner of his eye, as his hand clenches, Ben watches Rey’s finger jab near the Sales Manager’s confused and increasingly less jovial face.

An expression once as suitable for loudly demanding toys from other children in a sandpit as for here, bothering Rey and thus making Ben’s eye twitch in the fifth floor breakroom.

The coffee machine in his CFO’s office is better; he only ever comes down here because he might see Rey, possibly be on the receiving end of her sunny post-snack smiles. Even an increasingly more common clipped greeting and unreadable look will do.

It’s expected, it’s better than nothing. Ben’s bad news and she’s much too young anyway.

Too young to face a pregnancy without adequate support then, as well.

“Just keep your grubby fingers out of it for the rest of the day!”

“Hey my fingers are pristine!”

“I’ve had end of quarter spreadsheets less headache-inducing than the two of you. Most of them actually.”

Ah yes, Mr Finn Storm from accounting, the third musketeer. Who Ben once overheard calling him an edgelord. (He’d looked it up and… maybe. Sometimes.)

When will hormones start affecting her mood? She needs gentleness, not this.

And evidently also some hard-to-find mystery item for gestational nutrition. (His pregnancy web-search was overwhelming with dos and don’ts and vitamins, so he’s not judging. Wisconsin has a lot of dairy and calcium’s necessary, isn’t it?)

Perhaps he could throttle Dameron. Sure, it could (would) be argued that it’s a too permanent solution to a more temporary sort of problem.

But still… Rey’s problem. Ben huffs to himself. That places it on another tier.

Maybe just a little…

No, as satisfying as it is that he can still hear the crunch of Hux’s nose if he focusses hard enough (way to expedite the leaving process, and what a last hurrah), a repeat performance would probably (definitely) count as a behavioural step backward.

And Rey seems enthusiastic about the Christmas season, it might ruin it for her.

“Well I didn’t know what it was! I thought it was something that had gone weird being in there too long. Who told you I touched it anyway?”

Dameron narrows his eyes, spinning his focus. “You! You ratted me out! _Et tu Finn-ney_?”

There’s a note to his voice that’s not anger or just his usual school pantomime dramatics, and Ben’s ire at anyone messing with Rey’s… whatever it was, especially at the moment, recedes just enough to want to watch how this plays out rather than yell. For now.

He’s suspected something serious between the two men since the Halloween party. Skulking has the downside of witnessing private moments, weighed against the upside of skipping mandatory enjoyment.

No doubt he’ll acquaint himself with that particular hallway wall and ficus again come the impending yuletide festivities.

Maybe these two just keep it under wraps at work. He could do that, if Rey wanted him to. He could—

“Hey I told you _not_ to, remember, and I wasn’t going to take the fall.” Mr Storm rolls his eyes, barely looking up from his phone. “Of course Rey’s going to notice if it’s not exactly how she left it.”

“Right, and I stuck a hair across the seal too so—”

“Oh gross!”

“Yeah Peanut, it kinda is.”

The corner of Ben’s lips quirk up and he lets the conversation across the room blur as he dawdles, stirring cream into his coffee.

It’s no surprise she’d do that, territorial little thing. He’s watched Rey enough times inhaling her lunch like someone’s going to take it.

The sight always makes something hot and protective coil in his gut, whether from opposite her group’s usual table in the canteen, in the café next door, or passing her in the park.

It makes him both want to know why she is this way and imagine her bringing leftovers he’d cooked, instead of eating sub-standard sandwiches.

Soup and fresh sourdough, now that he’s mastered the crust. His grandma’s lasagne with four types of cheese. The dish of mushrooms and glass noodles he taught himself last week.

He’d enjoyed that meal until he’d thought of serving it for two, and suddenly the food was like ashes in his mouth at his single place setting.

Just his mind indulging in light self-torture at opportune moments, as it does.

Rey’s growl brings him back, jolts his hand to slosh his cup.

“ _Poe_! I will eat _all_ your mum’s empanadas next time you bring any while looking you _dead_ in the eyes, so help me!”

“Help you… eat them?” Mr Storm teases. “I volunteer.”

After a second longer of glaring she makes a rude gesture at Dameron and he promises her six of them.

By the time Ben has dabbed up the last of his spill the trio are laughing together, friends again.

Or maybe they were never truly at odds. It’s still strange, adjusting to such a different dynamic for five days of each week.

And okay, there are some key reasons why it’s not terrible including _Rey Johnson_ and _lack of sociopathic boss_ and _automated home electronics are a bit more chill than brokerage_ , but he could do without a lot of it.

What a tight sensation, in his chest. Probably just from seeing her happier again.

_Verklempt_.

It pops into his head.

Rey’s current favourite American word from the crossword, she’d told Leia yesterday in the elevator. It will change next week, it typically does.

Ben’s mouth had betrayed him as usual when his mother asked him what he thought of it. He’d stuttered something borderline rude that killed the conversation.

Still, this refrigerator business... Ben’s brow furrows.

Rey’s clearly got a lot of additional hidden stress and these two don’t seem aware. Dameron shouldn’t mess with her stuff.

Ben needs to buy raisins too. Maybe he can leave them on her desk.

“Solo, turn that frown upside-down! Always lurking for a caffeine fix. Surely you’ve got a holly jolly smile for Rey here, right? Chuck me another peppermint creamer my guy, they’re actually pretty good.”

He could make it look like an accident. Sabotage the chain on Dameron’s neon green road bike. Replace it with fucking tinsel.

* * *

“Why are you so concerned about the office refrigerators? I don’t think we’ve had any complaints. I like to think Resistance employees are a _little_ above messing with each other’s lunch.”

Leia finally looks up from her desk, expression weary in a way that’s very familiar but laced with something only a few months old.

Effort. Understanding.

His hackles fall as he watches her try, as the way she holds herself changes and she gives him her attention.

And she welcomed him home, he reminds himself. He’s good at his job but Leia fought to offer him the one that’s now his, despite opposition.

So that her son failed sideways even if not upward, and didn’t lose a finger trying his hand instead in Han’s workshop.

Ben keeps his voice low, conscious of who occupies the adjoining PA office.

“Well, Dameron—”

“Yes I guess Poe _might_ be the exception.”

“Look, I’m just concerned because Rey… Rey had—”

“Ohhh. _Rey_.” Is she raising an eyebrow? Smirking? The shift is complete now from Boss to Mother, a combination that might never stop being humbling. “Next time lead with that, Ben. Tell me what is it about _Rey_ that’s got you so worked up. What is it she had?”

_I’m worked up because she’s everything and she’s struggling_ dances on the tip of his tongue. _If I tell her I’ll be a father to her child she’ll think I’m mad and laugh in my face, but maybe I can start by making her work life a little easier right now._

It wars with _forget about it, it’s nothing, I’ll talk to HR about a memo on respecting other employees’ food. It’s not my business to tell you anything else about her right now. But for once I really want to talk._

So of course, because it’s a day ending in y and he’s Ben Solo, “I’m worked up because she’s nothing, it’s my business to tell you now,” is the horrifying word salad that falls out of his mouth.

Two intakes of breath, neither his own, and half a second later a small noise of utter outrage comes from the inner doorway behind.

Worse even than any cat whose paw has been lightly trodden on.

Footsteps through the room then receding, speeding up. His own feet are stuck, he can’t turn around.

The look Leia levels him… it sure is something. Flat, embellished only by the thin line of her mouth.

He’s such an—

“Idiot. Just like your father.”

* * *

Ben’s searched in three bathrooms and two floors by the time he catches up.

Frantic, his chest heaving as he bursts into a small meeting room and startles its occupant from her chair with puffy hazel eyes.

The lit from within glow to her light golden cheeks is replaced by blotches the colour of her fluffy reindeer sweater, and she hurriedly stuffs what looks like a wad of toilet paper up its sleeve.

He really is a monster.

“ _Rey_ , I need to say I’m sorry, I need to explain—“

She holds up a hand to halt him. At least raw, nauseating panic has untethered his tongue.

“Mr Solo—”

“Ben.”

Rey’s face _can_ look less impressed, it turns out. When he’s dreamed of anything like requesting such intimacies there’s always been far more kissing and a rosy, _happy_ flush to her cheeks.

Definitely no murder in her eyes.

“Uh, you can call me Ben… if you’d like… Please?”

Her frown deepens and he tries to take up less room, to fold in on himself and not loom over her. This is not a woman who gives a fuck right now about familiarity and categorically would _not_ like.

“Whatever. Look, I don’t know what your fucking problem is with me, _why_ you’ve always got a face like thunder if I’m around and can barely say a polite word. But it feels like a _you_ problem seeing as I definitely have never done anything to you to bloody warrant it. There is _no_ reason for you to speak that way about me, and to my _boss_! None! If you knew what I’ve been—”

Rey breaks off, wrapping her arms about herself and turning away to tilt up her head.

Her, like this, because he’s made her rough day worse. Because he’s fucked things up so badly that _this_ is the nightmare impression he’s managed to give in seven months.

It crushes his heart.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

He’s always found it a little hard to read Rey. Never known precisely why the looks she gives him have always differed from the looks she gives others here, just that they do and odds are it’s due to dislike.

Things have been easier in the last few minutes though. This daggers glance accompanied by a moue of displeasure means _shut up_.

“You’re right,” is what Ben blurts instead.

Huh. True, he’d say damn near anything to remove this cloud cast around her form, but it’s easier than he thought: admitting such a thing to someone.

Well, probably _just_ to her. Luke can still go fuck himself, and his whole overspending marketing department.

Rey faces him now, incredulity undisguised. Freckled nose scrunching up. God it’s cute, the little upturn before the point at the—

“What?”

“Uh, um, you’re right. If I’d meant to say it that way. I mean I _did_ say it, but, _shit_ , um this isn’t coming out how I want it to.”

Yeah, and the set of her shoulders increasingly reflects this fact. He scrambles, running a hand through his hair. Her eyes flick to it. “Okay, so. I did say that. But I did _not_ mean it.”

“ _How_ did you not mean it, _Mr Solo_? Enlighten me.”

Ben winces. Moment of truth, fear or no. And here, now, after all this time making Rey think he detests her, he owes her this.

Then he’ll know without any room for daydreams where he stands too, and her words will make it easier for him to keep his distance.

“I was thinking that you—” a steadying breath directed at the floor— “you are _everything_ to me, and worrying about your, uh, current predicament and your food in the breakroom fridge. But when Leia asked me what was wrong I wanted to say ‘it’s nothing’, because it’s your private business. Something garbled came out. The worst possible combination of phrases, not at all what I intended.”

When he looks up he couldn’t name the sequence of expressions rolling over Rey’s face if he tried, but unless it’s his imagination her shoulders soften, just a bit. The angry red of her cheeks calming, just a shade.

“Bullshit,” she whispers, hugging herself tighter. But there’s not her usual fire in it, and her eyes search his face.

Ben’s legs take him a step forward. She doesn’t step back so they take another. His trembling hand raises to her upper arm for some reason and when it’s not shoved away it tries to soothe by rubbing slowly up and down.

She’s warm beneath his palm, cocooned in her hideous sweater. She’s beautiful, prepared to fight, but even more so looking like she’s reconsidering the need.

“When have I ever lied to you Rey? I haven’t. I’ve been… rude, unintentionally at first and then I didn’t know how to fix it. Blunt when I’ve managed to speak. I know I’ve still got a reputation, I’m working on it— I’m _trying_ to work at working on it. But it’s not one for shying away from standing by my, uh, less diplomatic words when I mean them.”

She snorts, jerking her chin like he should go on. One gesture so much like being given a last minute reprieve.

“I’ve never been able to just talk to you—” she scoffs at this— “no Rey, _really_. I know I’ve always got something to say in meetings, but around you… I have things I want to ask and tell you in my head, but then I freeze. And I fail. I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. It’s never how I’ve _wanted_ to act toward you.”

Her laugh at this is humourless. “I always made the effort, you know. Not just for Leia’s sake, with her notorious prodigal son. I couldn’t understand why you’d barely even respond to a smile from me. You make it so _difficult_ , when I hoped you’d just…”

Sighing a frustrated noise, she looks up at the ceiling again for a few long moments. He’d give anything for her to finish that sentence.

“You said I’m everything to you,” is what she states instead. It comes out small.

A phone rings and a door closes down the hall. Ben keeps the steady movement of his hand and wills himself to seem less desperately pathetic as he looks at the wall behind her head.

He can take direct rejection, knows the taste of it. He can and will somehow stomach it.

“You are. Since I first saw you. Monday, May 11th. You wore a yellow blouse. There was a little splotch of what looked like tomato sauce on the collar and the meeting was after lunch, so I wondered what you’d eaten. Only you and Dameron hid your outright distrust, but you…” _were breath-taking and told a joke, and when you leant over I saw the pink cotton of your bra. Whereas Dameron’s just an irritant who knew me a long time ago_.

A barely-there laugh that’s very, very unsteady escapes her lips and she rubs at her temple.

“Leia was happier than I’d seen her so I was happy for her… Jesus Christ, I never… this is a lot.”

“Rey you… you lit up the room, and everything I came to learn about you after that only showed me why you always do. And how little I deserved your warmth, dragging myself to Resistance with my tail between my legs and fucking up even being a decent human around you. You’re… you’re a lot younger than me too. This probably makes me a creep.”

Ben’s uselessly hanging, clenching hand inches up to her other arm to soothe as well. She allows it, which is nothing short of a miracle.

Who knew he could get somewhere marginally less painful by baring himself?

Well, aside from at the very least his therapist.

“I’ve never given a t-toss about your age.”

A sniffle precedes a wetter choke from Rey’s downturned head, with an angry noise like this display is weakness.

If anyone in this room should hate anything about themselves it’s not her and his arms are still moving with their own agenda, so they pull her to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ben chants with a cracking voice, inches away from her hair and forcing himself not to lean down and do something disturbing like sniff it. “God I’m _so sorry_ I ever caused you to think I didn’t like you, when that could not be further from the truth. I’m just… I push people away. I’m still twisted up from my old job. I’m sorry, it’s no excuse, I… I’ll work on it.”

Maybe, just maybe, Rey doesn’t hate him. Letting him hold her like this. Her deep breath in against his shirt.

She shudders before he feels her relax and he’s burning up because her chest is _so soft_ through his thin layers. Or that could be the stuffed reindeer applique.

Perhaps she reads his mind though, about his maybes, when her arms wriggle free to wrap her little hands partway around his waist.

Maybe, just maybe he won’t have to try to stamp out his not-so-secret feelings entirely, if he can be brave.

“Rey?”

“Mmm.”

“I’m.. I would like to abuse my upper management perks and call out for the rest of the day. Can we go somewhere and… talk this out, please? I’ll tell Leia you need to go home. If there’s even a small chance that you could feel anything, uh, good for me, I’d like to make sure I don’t fuck this up again.”

Dr Kalonia is going to be so irritatingly proud. If he’s lucky Rey might even let him buy her lunch.

“Yeah,” she sniffs, tilting up her chin to look at him with a frighteningly direct gaze. “Yes Ben, I’d like that. But nowhere with only sandwiches—” an amused huff— “I know you’re not much of a fan and I don’t want my meal ruined by some tall, complaining git.”

That’s true. About the sandwiches (well, and the second part). Wait… she knows that’s true. She’s agreed. She said his _first name_.

Hope, what a strange feeling.

_This_ , this look. Soft and with something blooming at the tentative curve of her lips that could be happiness rather than what else he so often puts there. This _is_ like what he daydreams about.

Is he… happy?

Her eyes widen, mouth falling open. Reminiscent of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, or as if he’s suddenly grown a second head, which—

Oh right, his cheeks are tugging up, in an easy, relaxed way too. Not a shape Ben’s face often forms itself into.

If they weren’t at work… her lips are so close…

Rey has no such compunctions.

It’s not a nice kiss.

Wonderful, unexpected, life-altering, certainly. Not nice.

She surges up and mashes her mouth against his with more violence than sweetness, forcing in her tongue. It knocks the air out of him.

There’s nothing nice about this hunger – how is it _mutual_ hunger? – after months of his fuck ups. Nothing nice about her tears smearing his cheeks or how his hands still have a mind of their own and bury themselves in her buns, tugging the silky strands askew before dropping to cup her ass.

Her fingers pulling at his collar and tie, the way he nips her lips and the _noise_ that comes from her throat.

Rey tastes like salt, like mediocre breakroom coffee without seven pumps of caramel, and the black wrapped candies she keeps in her front satchel pocket that he now knows are, unforgivably, liquorice. Like everything he’s ever wanted.

Ben feels it all tugging low in his belly. She’s perfect and he must have stroked out and she’s soft in all the right places and he’s hard in another.

As suddenly as Rey flew at him she pulls back, gasping just like he is except his body is confused and he follows her mouth, swaying as if he’s drunk.

“I can’t _believe_ I’ve wanted to do that for so long and you were such a… a _cockwomble_ —” she smacks his shoulder— “making me think there was something wrong with me, like self-inflicted bloody negging, for not just hating you. We could have been doing _that_!”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with you, not a single thing,” he growls back, struggling to process that she’s actually wanted him too. But she seems to know his anger isn’t at her, it’s for her.

“You are fucking magnificent Rey, all of you. And _everything_ your body can do as well. I don’t care that it’s not mine, I’ll treat it like it is, if you’ll have me, I—"

“Wait, what? Hold on…” The combined exasperation and pleasure has gone from Rey’s face and the wrinkle between her brows is growing.

Dread rises in Ben’s throat. Oh God, has he—

“What precisely did you mean before by my _predicament_?”

He should have gone out to buy raisins. He should have raisins on hand.

* * *

“So how long do you... hang it?”

Ben sticks his head around the door of their yellow-walled kitchen for long enough to glare at his father, but Leia beats him to a response so he retreats.

Back into the steamy detonation site smelling of fruit, buttery baked goods, and his turkey that had come out perfectly. Maybe $70 _was_ excessive just for a baster/injector set but no one had been complaining at the table.

“At least a month, Rey said. You eat salami Han, aged cheese. You ate a slice of that one she made before you knew what it was, and enjoyed it very much as I recall.”

“Last year?” Han is rubbing his chin, he’d bet.

“ _Last year_ we were on that cruise with Charles and Maz, memory like a damn sieve. The year before! Rey said it was good fried in butter, so you did. With no thanks from your hypertension I’m sure.”

“Hey, I’m not getting at the kid’s girl or her cooking, princess.” He can picture his father’s placating raised hands too, knows them well. “I just have questions is all. About maturing a… cake.”

“He’s afraid the brandy will have him under the table,” calls out Rey, dunking her pudding in cold water before carefully peeling off the cloth.

There are outraged refutations from the dining room beyond, as well as his mother’s cackle, but all he can focus on is Rey’s relieved sigh at her handiwork.

The thought that fills him with warmth is how the woman beside him is already so much more comfortable holding her own around his parents now.

Teasing back, not always assuming the worst. This alone is momentous, given her history.

“The booze component is serve yourself this year,” Rey continues loudly, with a secret smile just for him. “Add as much or as little as you like. Maybe _as little_ , in Han’s case.”

Ben wants nothing more than to rub and love himself all over her, to work his hands under her loose knitted dress – altered from a sweater that was his, at some point – to cup and worship the budding evidence of what they’ve made together.

To relish how happy she is because of it. And bend her over the bench. Lick her nipples too, pinch them—

No, Rey’s breasts had been too sore for that during their morning shower. Still, it hadn’t interfered with his tongue’s attentions at her lower half.

He adjusts himself, anticipating later when she’s warm and well-fed and content in their bed.

Pressing his lips to her temple and whispering _I love you_ , he hands her his grandma’s special gold-rimmed serving plate. With her brow furrowed in concentration she murmurs a reply in kind, bumping her side into his hip before topping her pudding with the porcelain and flipping it.

His talented, wonderful, daily reminder that the universe can be benevolent goes to so much effort with this.

And all because she’d done research to impress her Anglo-curious boss, who was already impressed by the best PA she ever had (Rey’s doing so well in R&D now, he’s very proud).

Well, not solely because of that; Rey also craves tradition.

Their traditions now, in their home, with Ben at hand to heap as much praise as she can handle at every step. To reassure her that she never _has_ to do this, that none of his or his family’s love is conditional upon proving and re-proving herself.

Ben’s never cared about Christmas for a variety of reasons but there’s very little he wouldn’t do for Rey. That list probably doesn’t include several major crimes, so festivities hardly register.

The tree’s for her, filling the house with a resinous fragrance (he just takes allergy medication). The ugly ornaments they make themselves, too. Glue-streaked macaroni stars and paper chains, for this year, and he’s still finding glitter even in clothing fresh from his wardrobe.

The oversized drunken Santa snow globe she put in pride of place is fresh from the Vegas weekend of Finn and Poe (who are tolerable in limited doses), and of the two knitted stockings he’d commissioned from Rose’s sister, Rey’s is larger. (It’s hard to rein himself in and this morning showed him exactly why he never will.)

Any themed movies she wants to watch, he does (although, bless her, she doesn’t seem to mind if sometimes his eyelids droop closed), and he duets her with Mariah’s best (but only inside their house).

Her formfitting candycane onesie with the domed back flap? Well that was just an inspired purchase.

In Ben’s life her continued happiness is the most important task with which he has ever been entrusted, its eras divided into pre- and post- meeting Rey.

Sometimes he feels like a sleeper agent whose activation phrase is her voice saying _I’ve never…_ , or just sharing damn near anything from her childhood, and by the time he’s in charge of his faculties again he’s agreed to something else.

Up to and including the matching LED-festooned jumpers for last year’s Resistance Christmas party.

It was, admittedly, a terrible idea.

Not for the ecstatic look on her face or how enthusiastically she’d made her feelings known, four buttered rums in and on her knees while he tried to muffle his appreciation in the copy room. No, definitely not. Farewell, hallway ficus.

Rather because his colleagues seemed to think it signalled Mr Solo is now more approachable. _Tamed_. _A new leaf turned over_. And it’s maddening that he can’t disagree with any office whispering.

Horrifying that even people whose names he has a hard time remembering now talk to him more, five days out of seven.

This year, for the second occasion in this kitchen, Ben had followed barked, barely coherent instructions to _pass that_ and _hold this_ while Rey boiled an enormous stock pot full of water and furiously rubbed flour into a hot cloth.

He’s just happy to assist his little sorceress with her alchemy in whatever way she likes. Because now he gets to. Now he can.

What a life.

“Right!” calls Rey happily, trotting toward the dining room and leaving Ben to stop staring into space and catch up.

All her tension has been cast off with the sodden square of linen, and she’d probably skip to the table in her success (like she sometimes does for his weekend pancakes if she’s feeling silly) were it not for hefting this enormous thing.

“Plum pudding’s up! Hope you’ve left room.”

“It looks amazing dear,” pronounces Leia, “always reminds me of some cake my grandmother used to make when I was really small. Remarkable how taste memories linger. Custard at the ready!”

“And the damn hard sauce,” mutters Han with humour in his voice.

Rey and his father are on their second portions before Han can no longer resist. There’s that twinkle in his eye.

It’s a surprise he held out this long, and Ben accepts his fate with nothing more than a groan.

Usually he wouldn’t have to fake some level of annoyance, and Rey might end up hissing _Ben_ beside him in that exasperated but affection way she often does. Today is different.

“So kid, tell me again about how you thought Rey was knocked up because of a pudding. I never get sick of hearing it. Stick it in my eulogy; this is _my_ boy alright.”

Leia snorts and Ben casts her a betrayed glance, though worried it’ll be obvious he’s phoning it in.

“I’m sorry Ben but you can’t deny it’s hilarious. At least it got your head out of your ass and both of you to stop mooning around. It was becoming intolerable at the office—“

“Painful to hear about too,” supplies Han through a mouthful, “Solos make getting in our own way an artform.”

Leia ignores him. “And look where you both are now. So what was it again?”

Under the table Rey’s hand reaches for his, gives a squeeze so the band of her engagement ring rubs against his skin.

Ben likes to turn it when she’s half asleep curled into him in bed, breathing her in and reminding himself this is real and what she tells him is true: it’s okay to let himself be happy.

Her face, so tender, encourages him to go ahead. Says that she’s giving him this as they discussed, that he’s her world.

“ _Plum fucking duff_ , the unknown variable in my panic,” Ben begins the now familiar story. “I offered Rey all the raisins she’d ever need, told her I loved her, and begged to let me adopt over a family-sized bowl of pasta and three sides, because I thought she was eating for two.”

“When you teared up it was so cute. Intense, but cute.”

“Hey kid you’ve been leaving out a good bit!”

“Han, shush,” orders Leia, but her eyes are shining.

Ben’s ears must be pink, but that’s what his haircut is for. And he can’t hate the back and forth, not today. “Yes, well. I say and do ridiculous things when overwhelmed by perfection, we’ve established this.”

The way Rey strokes his fingers harder and doesn’t try to correct his compliment makes his heart swell. They’ve both been getting better at certain things.

“After Rey made some significant corrections to my information, she responded that... she was interested in getting to know me and us trying out dating.”

As his father guffaws at the much-loved anti-climax Ben toys with his empty bowl, secretly relishing everything about this.

He’ll always remember these moments, they’ll make another family story.

“It _was_ good pasta, very convincing,” Rey chortles. “In my defence sweetheart, you had been acting like a smeghead until about an hour earlier. God I could go that garlic bread.”

“A complete and total one with a poor IQ for a glass of water. We’ll order some as soon as they open again, promise.”

She gazes at him like he’s said something brilliant rather than repeating an old TV show’s jokes and offering food, and maybe Ben has, causing this expression.

“Actually mom, dad.” He sits taller and leans back in his chair, gripping hard at the only full-sized hand he wants in his. “It is funny, that misunderstanding. Especially now. Because Rey _is_.”

It takes a second. Han’s puzzled frown before he chuckles and mutters about not drinking Rey under the table this year. Leia’s gasp and the clatter of her spoon.

“ _Oh_! Oh my God! You, you’re—“

“Yup, soon I’ll start getting round as any figgy pudding,” his perfect woman deadpans, before her quivering lips can’t but break into the toothy grin he adores. “Surprise! I’m up the duff.”

**Author's Note:**

> I share Ben’s dgaf attitude tbh, with allowances for scorched almonds and shortbread in festive shapes. But people I love also love plum duff so each year I get out my pudding cloth & stock pot big enough to bathe a toddler, & find a butcher with suet for a recipe my nana adapted from her grandmother’s. Maybe the pudding steam went to my head this year.
> 
> _The author’s entirely unsolicited plum duff or Christmas/figgy/plum pudding tips:_
> 
>   1. Use a pudding basin instead of a cloth unless you have a compelling reason (like childhood memories & having established other people’s expectations, in my case). Don’t do that to yourself, you don’t need any extra shit this time of year.
>   2. A soft frying fat like lard cannot be substituted for suet while expecting the same (/good) results. Some US blogs/YouTube channels will lie to you about this but they should stay in their lanes, you won’t see me giving advice on cornbread or brownies. Block your ears & use a shredded vegetable suet if you can’t find/don’t eat animal fat, or frozen grated butter in a pinch. But proper suet produces a lighter result & has a higher melting point, which is important when boiling in a (submerged!) pudding cloth to form what is effectively a hot water pastry skin, caused by...
>   3. Rubbing the shit out of flour inside the pre-boiled, wrung out, painfully hot pudding cloth before filling it. Curse your life choices & rub it in until the cloth can take no more flour & neither can you. But guess what? A cloth pudding mixture needs more flour in it too. Buy extra flour. (Cloth = more like a dough, basin = more like a batter.)
>   4. Dunk the pudding in cold water once it’s done to aid clean removal of the cloth minus skin & avoid your pudding looking like the sad, peeling example on the wiki page. Why choose that photo? No one is being inspired to try that out.
>   5. Hanging a pudding to age in my country’s warm, humid Christmas season would be a Sisyphean task. It gets a few days drying & being fed brandy on the kitchen bench, covered by a tea towel, then wrapped air-tight & aged in the fridge. This works fine & will also not poison anyone with an interesting sub-tropical mould. If you can hang it to age in the winter, you are living the dream.
>   6. I don't re-boil my pudding to heat it on the day because hell no, eating a full spread of cold weather colonial throwback food in summer is already ridiculous. I microwave it for ~5min on each side loosely wrapped in the damp pudding cloth. I know, utterly base barbarianism. Works perfectly.
> 

> 
> Do you have less firm opinions on this subject but are curious about giving an easy basin version a go? I recommend [this recipe video](https://youtu.be/jfGVoqqc1TU). [Edit: Townsends has put out [a lovely video](https://youtu.be/Q4o1wYwkv9g) on an historical cloth plum pudding, bless him. You tell them about the importance of suet, John! Just please _rub_ more flour into your cloth, it gives me anxiety.]


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